


An Amnesiac’s Firsts

by Kantayra



Series: The Masters and Doctors in the Matrix [11]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio), Doctor Who (TV Movie 1996)
Genre: Amnesia, Asphyxiation, Banter, Bickering, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Flirting, Goo-Snake, Humor, M/M, Memory Loss, Moresomes, Puns & Word Play, Telepathic Sex, ascii art, healing cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24389128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: The Eighth Doctor, in his afterlife, finds himself torn between three separate Masters and so many memory-wipes that evenhecan’t remember them all. Naturally, those same three separate Masters are more than happy to help him sort it all out.Now with bonus Goo-Snake!
Relationships: Eighth Doctor/The Master (Goo-Snake), Eighth Doctor/The Master (Goo-Snake)/The Master (Macqueen)/The War Master (Jacobi), Eighth Doctor/The Master (Macqueen), Eighth Doctor/The Master (Roberts), Eighth Doctor/The War Master (Jacobi), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), The Doctor/The Master/The Master/The Master (Doctor Who)
Series: The Masters and Doctors in the Matrix [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592659
Comments: 20
Kudos: 54





	1. First Kiss (Eight/Jacobi!War Master)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a bit different from the others in the series so far because I think it makes sense to break it into multiple chapters. The first three parts are one-shots with the Eighth Doctor and each of the three Masters that can lay claim to him, and then the final chapter will tie everything together. Tags to be updated with each chapter.
> 
> Posting schedule will be every Tuesday & Thursday until I’m done.
> 
> This chapter eludes heavily to events in The War Master Vol 3: Rage of the Time Lords, which is one of the shippiest Doctor/Master audios I have ever had the pleasure of listening to.

“Oh…” the Doctor said, “ _hello_.”

The Master in question looked up from where he was trying to fuse the circuits in place that held open the gateway between the Doctors’ and Masters’ mindscapes. “Doctor,” he greeted cordially enough, with a polite incline of his head. He moved aside just enough to let the Doctor pass through.

The Doctor did so and may have taken just the slightest bit of advantage of the fact that the Master didn’t fully move out of the way, in order to rub against the Master’s body in the narrow corridor even more than the Master had originally intended. The Doctor couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about this Master was… _spellbinding_.

The Master’s eyes widened only marginally at the feel of the Doctor’s obvious arousal against him. This was a Master tight in control of his reactions, then. Masters of this sort, who seemed the most reserved, often had a tendency to become the most passionate when provoked, the Doctor had noticed from past experience.

The Doctor licked his lips in response. “Which one are you, then?” As a come-on line, it was weak, but he’d done worse.

The Master arched an eyebrow in response. He had quite dramatic eyebrows, above icy blue eyes, the standard goatee (in grey this time), and an air about him that was jocularly avuncular on the surface and deadly avuncular just beneath. The unobservant might have mistaken him for frail at first, given that he had an older-looking body, but the way he moved indicated all too clearly that there was incredible strength in his limbs. A very deceptive façade, over all. The Doctor bet this Master had got some good mileage out of that while he was alive.

“The Sixteenth Master,” the Master said warmly, offering his hand, “more frequently known as the War Master, at your service. In _every_ way.” There was a hint of a leer there at the end.

The Doctor shivered in response and grinned, probably like an idiot. He hadn’t known until this point that he had a fetish for older men; actually, come to think of it: until this point, he hadn’t _had_ a fetish for older men. Something about the War Master clearly just _called_ to him.

“Delighted to make your acquaintance.” He took the War Master’s proffered hand. “I’m the Eigh—”

“Eighth Doctor. Yes, I know.” The War Master pulled on his wrist, so that their bodies pressed flush together, their mouths only a hairsbreadth apart, breathing in each other’s air. “You have no idea how much the delight is reciprocated,” he said in a voice that was rich like honey, sin, and – for no particular reason – peppermint.

The Doctor felt himself quite weak-kneed. “I just should, um… That is I… I was going to… What was I going to do?” he asked dumbly, and swayed a bit on his feet.

The War Master’s hand settled on his hip to steady him. The sheer heat of it felt like it was scalding the Doctor straight through his trousers. Suddenly the fabric itched, like he absolutely had to get it off, and here was a nice Master who might help him and…

“Easy, Doctor,” the War Master cooed, and led the Doctor out of the corridor and into what seemed to be his bedroom. “You look like you could use a quick rest.”

“A quick…what?” There was a very large bed in the bedroom. The bed looked soft. Soft and warm and regularly occupied by a Master. “Rest, yes. Rest is good.”

“Lie down, then.” The War Master had an almost clinical efficiency about how he guided the Doctor to the bed, a comforting hand against the Doctor’s back and shoulder at all the right points, his body supporting the Doctor’s still unconscionably shaky knees, almost as if the War Master had spent quite a lot of time and practice in medical facilities.

The Doctor racked his brain for what exactly the Master had _done_ during the Time War, because that might have provided a clue, but he came up with a blank. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but feel drawn in to the War Master, almost as if…

As if.

“Have we met before?” the Doctor asked dreamily as the War Master settled him back against wonderfully snug pillows: just firm enough to hold him at a comfortable angle, and just soft enough that the tension flowed from his body. He couldn’t feel the shaking in his knees at all anymore.

The War Master tutted and set about to removing the Doctor’s shoes one by one. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember your oldest and _dearest_ friend?” he chided. His hand moved up to the buckle of the Doctor’s belt.

The Doctor caught the War Master’s wrist suddenly with one hand, stopping him. “No, not like that. I remember you, the Master, of course. I mean, has _me_ -me met _you_ -you before?” Having got his say in, albeit somewhat incoherently, the Doctor released the War Master’s wrist again. After all, if the War Master wanted to undress him, the Doctor felt that that sort of misbehaviour should definitely be enabled.

The War Master unbuckled the Doctor’s belt and pulled the leather free of the loops in a slow, steady pull. “Oh,” he said dismissively, “so many versions of you have run across so many different versions of me. Who can keep track anymore?” He pulled down the Doctor’s zipper and flicked open the button with his thumb.

The Doctor felt his pulses race. The War Master patted the Doctor’s hips, indicating for him to lift his bum. The Doctor did so in something of a daze, allowing the Master to slide his trousers down and off. A second pat, and there went his pants.

The Doctor was fairly certain that, as far-gone as he’d always been for the Master, even _he_ wouldn’t bend over quite so quickly for a version of the Master he’d just met. In fact, he could recall that to be the case: he’d passed several incarnations of the Master before he’d reached this one, and all of them had been mad and lovely, but none of them had given him an instant erection like _this_. The War Master’s evasion just solidified his suspicions: he _knew_ this Master somehow.

“ _You_ can,” the Doctor accused, obligingly lifting his shoulders and moving his arms so that the War Master could get him out of his jacket. “I have no doubt that you remember every encounter, every version of you and every version of me. You’ve probably got them all indexed somewhere. With colourful and dubiously-accurate commentary as well, I’d wager.”

The War Master gave the Doctor an annoyed look and pulled the Doctor’s shirt up over his head with a bit more petulance than the rest. When he was done, however, his eyes softened as he looked the Doctor’s body up and down.

Oh, well how about that? Somehow the Doctor had got himself completely naked. When had that happened? Something to do with all that undressing, perhaps.

The War Master licked his lips.

“Would you care you join me?” the Doctor asked, and shimmied his hips just a little. “Since it’s your room and your bed and all. Seems only polite to ask.”

The Master’s eyes, which had been so pale and cold when they first met, were now dark and burning with desire. “My dear Doctor,” his voice vibrated against the Doctor’s insides, mesmerising in the depth of its rumbles, “I believe that I shall take you up on that very kind offer.”

The Doctor barely refrained from saying, “Oh, goodie!” Or maybe not, from the way the Master looked at him askance. Equally possible: he’d thought it really loudly, and the Master couldn’t help but overhear telepathically. If this version of the Doctor had tended toward embarrassment, he would’ve been mortified. But instead, he just thought again: “Oh, goodie!”

“Is that sarcasm?” the Master wondered, climbing directly on top of the Doctor, still fully clothed, not even bothering with the pretence of propriety anymore. “I must confess that, when it’s this you, I often have an awfully difficult time telling.”

“I have the exact same problem,” the Doctor admitted. “I’m honestly not sure.”

“Hmm.” The Master shrugged, which caused the wool of his trousers to rub against the Doctor’s erection in a way that wasn’t exactly pleasant but wasn’t exactly _un_ pleasant either. “Ah well. Open up,” he ordered.

The Doctor opened his mouth wide.

“I meant your legs. But, well…yes. This will do nicely.” And the War Master leaned in and kissed him deeply.

The Doctor moaned at the overbearing heat of the Master’s mouth. His arms came up to wrap around the Master’s back and tangle in his hair. He lost himself for a bit in the sweetness of wine that lingered on the Master’s tongue, and the firm and settled weight of his body on top of the Doctor, and the persistent pressure of his knee up and between the Doctor’s. Belatedly, the Doctor opened his legs as well. Again, he couldn’t be sure whether the delay had been sarcasm or not.

However, at that point, matters really did become intolerable. The Doctor was entirely in the nude, and the Master was fully clothed, and that simply wouldn’t do. He pulled away from the Master’s greedy mouth with a gasp, and insisted, “All right, you can cut the act. I _know_ that I know this body.”

“Do you, really?” the Master teased, his tone falsely serious and concerned but with a lilt of mocking laughter at the edges that the Doctor couldn’t help but shiver at.

“I meant ‘know’ in the cognitive sense, not the biblical sense.” The Doctor rolled his eyes in exasperation. “To get to the biblical sense, you’d have to actually remove some clothing.”

“Was that an order?” The Master looked down at him with dark eyes. “You know how I feel about obeying orders. A request, perhaps? Don’t tell me it was a… No, I don’t suppose? A _plea_?” His fist wrapped around the base of the Doctor’s cock on that word.

The Doctor cried out, and it took ever last fibre of his will _not_ to plead in response. “Oh, you wish,” he muttered instead, and kicked half-heartedly (which technically, for a Time Lord, was one-heartedly) at the Master’s trousers.

The Master chuckled wickedly. “Oh, my dear Doctor, do you honestly expect me to deny it? I do indeed wish, very much, to hear you begging for your Master. I don’t believe I’ve been particularly subtle about that desire over the millennia, but if it’s all gone over your head, I do apologise. I know you tend to be a bit…scatter-brained. Especially in this regeneration.”

“Subtle like a brick to the skull,” the Doctor agreed. “Also: Scatter-brained? Which of us lost an entire army of trans-dimensional sky lobsters on Sirius IX again?”

“Oh, did you find them? I’ve been looking for those for ages! I do hope they didn’t snap at you. They pack a nasty telepathic sting, if I recall correctly.”

“As much as I’d love to reminisce on your former hench-crustaceans, I can’t help but notice that you’re still dressed.” The Doctor began unbuttoning the Master’s waistcoat in a way that he hoped was suggestive. “And also that you’re very persistently avoiding answering my question.”

“Well, the clothes we can certainly do something about.” The Master rolled his shoulders, and let the Doctor push off his waistcoat.

“But not the evasion, I take it?” The Doctor unfastened his trousers.

“Clothing is a superficial fix.” The Master shoved his trousers and pants down just enough, but hardly all the way off. “Evasion is a more intrinsic characteristic of mine, I’m sure you will agree.”

“And even the superficial fix is not exactly—ah!” The Doctor let out a strangled cry when, with no warning whatsoever, the Master thrust into him. “—Complete.” The Doctor glared at the Master for good measure. Nothing hurt _permanently_ in the Matrix, of course. But that instant of discomfort had not been pleasant, and the Master very well knew it.

“Oh dear,” the Master said perfectly dryly and unapologetically. “Don’t tell me I forgot the lubricant?”

“Not to worry, my darling,” the Doctor said, definitely sarcastically this time, and Matrixed some lubricant into place on the spot, which was a rather odd sensation. “I’ve taken care of it.”

“See? You can be so very accommodating when you want to be.” The Master pulled back out an inch and then thrust back inside, getting in well over halfway this time with the added slickness of the lubricant. “Very accommodating, indeed.”

“I only wish the same could be said of you. I take it the rest of these clothes won’t be going anywhere any time soon?” The Doctor was rather proud of the fact that his voice had barely hitched when the Master finally slid the rest of the way home, now buried to the root in the Doctor’s body.

“I’m rather enjoying the view, as is,” the Master conceded, and struck into the Doctor with another jarring thrust of his hips. “You, bare and exposed and vulnerable, and me…well…”

“No, don’t tell me.” The Doctor wrapped his legs around the Master’s waist, drawing him in deeper. “ _In control_. Am I right?”

The Master tangled the fingers of one hand roughly in the Doctor’s hair, pressed their foreheads together, and began rocking their bodies in a steadily rising rhythm. “I’m afraid so. It is _terribly_ cliché of me, isn’t it?”

“ _Terribly_ ,” the Doctor agreed. “But, after all these years, I’ve learnt to deal with my disappointment.”

“ _Disappointment_?” the Master growled viciously, and promptly turned to fucking the Doctor _properly_ , hard and deep and angry, eyes gone mad with rage, hair falling across his forehead with the force of his thrusts, shirt gone akimbo only half-buttoned from the more covert actions of the Doctor’s hands while they’d been enjoying their quality sniping time.

Even the Doctor was forced to concede that there was very little _disappointment_ after that point. As he’d noted at the beginning: the Masters who seemed the most reserved, did indeed turn the most passionate when provoked. The Doctor’s pleasure centres took a good, hard pummelling, but there was more to it than that: skill and finesse. The Master wasn’t _just_ fucking him into the mattress; the Master was coaxing ecstasy from his every pore, forcing pleasure from all the oddest places.

The trail of a thumbnail across the sensitive skin on the underside of his knee. A twist of the Master’s cock against a nerve cluster deep inside him. The tickle of the Master’s beard against his right clavicle. The overpowering pulse of the Master’s obsession for him through his telepathic communication centres. And, finally, the ragged, drawn-out whisper against the shell of his ear: “Oh… _Doctor_ …”

The Doctor surrendered his pleasure, unable to help himself, as always. He clung to his Master as he came, curled around him with arms and legs and mind, staking a claim as proprietary as the one the Master released into his body.

By the time it was all over, the pair of them were a sweaty, sticky mess. Any effort the Master had made toward maintaining control was completely defeated by his dishevelled appearance, sweat-and-come-stained clothes, and great gasps for breath.

The Doctor quite liked the result of his machinations. He really should have tried this before, when…

Well, _when_?

“You _definitely_ ,” the Doctor concluded, sneaking a stealthy hand up under the Master’s ruined shirt to find a veritable smorgasbord of bare skin, “knew this body already.”

The Master hummed contentedly to himself and gave the Doctor an approving pat on the behind. “Yes, well, perhaps just a little,” he admitted.

“This me and this you have met before,” the Doctor insisted, stating it as a fact this time.

“Alas, not as pleasurably as this encounter…”

The Doctor strained to remember until he felt the stirrings of a headache coming on. His body, though, his _senses_ were flooded with familiarity. “Why can’t I remember anything?” he demanded.

“Well,” the Master explained entirely unsympathetically, “it’s like this: your memory has roughly the coherence of Swiss cheese.”

“No thanks to you,” the Doctor complained, “on at least two separate occasions that I can think of…and perhaps more that I can’t?”

“Perhaps,” the Master hedged, as cagey as ever, the slippery devil. “However, I’m hardly to blame for _all_ your mental…flakiness.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you.”

“No, I imagine there’s very little you would put past me.” The Master pressed a quick peck to the Doctor’s forehead, almost affectionate, before getting up out of the bed and straightening his attire once more.

The Doctor lounged back against the pillows and sighed in disappointment as the Master tidied and fussed every last detail of his appearance into fastidious order. The shirt was replaced entirely, given up as a lost cause. It was a pity, because he rather enjoyed it when the Master showed all his internal chaos on the outside. And, also, he didn’t particularly feel like putting on clothes and leaving this Master’s very comfortable bed.

But, on the other hand… “What did I come in for, again?” the Doctor asked, scratching his head and reaching over to grab his pants.

“You never said,” the Master replied, amused, and returned to repairing the gateway the Doctor had come in through.

“Well, not to worry. I’ll figure it out.”

“Tell me when you do,” the War Master agreed.

The Doctor threw on the rest of his clothes, turned to the door, and paused. “I will,” he promised, dashing back to press one last sound kiss on the War Master’s lips, and then dashing back out on his way again.

He was gone by the time the War Master hesitantly reached up to press his fingers against his still-tender lips and said wistfully, “If _only_.”


	2. First Date (Eight/Macqueen!Master)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this chapter draws strongly on Dark Eyes 3. At some point, I'm going to run out of slashy Eight/Master audios, but it won't be any time soon.

“Hello, you,” the Master flirted.

The Doctor groaned. “Oh, it’s _you_ ,” he said. The bald Master, just lovely. As soon as the Doctor had the thought, he was clutching at his temple with one hand. There had been a wave of…something? Blackness, fuzziness, he couldn’t remember. “What have you done to my head?” he demanded because, when the Doctor was in pain and a Master was present, it really wasn’t difficult to make the connection between the two occurrences.

“Yes, well…” The Master shrugged, hands held up apologetically. “I’d say it’s not my fault, but that’s not _entirely_ true, even I am forced to concede. It’s only 95% not my fault.”

“Ninety-five percent not your fault,” the Doctor repeated slowly and incredulously. “Now, why do I just not believe you?”

“Hmm, would you accept 92%? Or 89.7%? At the very least, it’s no less than 83.6%. Just how many times did you get your memory wiped during your lifetime, after all?”

“I…can’t remember.” Even the Doctor had to admit that there was a certain irony in that.

“Just. So.” The Master said, shrugging off the jacket of his dark suit and folding it carefully over the storage crate behind him. “I trust you _are_ able to remember this place?”

The Doctor looked around. It was obviously some sort of spaceship: sealing doors, cargo crates, portholes that looked out into the stars, and…oh no. That was an Eminence teleportation casket, wasn’t it? “Please,” the Doctor said, “tell me we’re not trapped in the hold of that damned Ides cargo ship again?”

“Gold star for you!” the Master clapped cheerily, then reached out to pinch the Doctor’s cheek.

The Doctor swatted away his hand in annoyance. “ _Why_ are we here? This place blew up. We both got out. How did—?” With a sudden gasp, the Doctor realised that the air was thinning. He bent over, took several deep breaths to fill up as much of his respiratory bypass as possible, and looked up at the Master wide-eyed.

“You _do_ remember!” the Master exclaimed, beaming at him. “I’m touched, Doctor. Our very first date, recreated. Well, first, at least, for these particular incarnations of ourselves. Do you think on it as fondly as I do? The nice tussle beforehand to get our heartsrate up? Gazing longingly into each other’s eyes as we whispered sweet nothings? That moment when you really, truly considered the thought that we might die, and your hand oh-so-casually reached over and brushed mine? Such a _romantic_ , you are!”

“That’s…not…remotely…what…happened…” The air had thinned to the point now that the Doctor’s words were the merest wisps. “Why…?” he managed to get out before he was choking, for there was no more oxygen to breathe.

“Oh, the air? I kept the bit where that’s getting pumped out. I must confess that I enjoy how sentimental you get when you’re light-headed. No need to worry, though; I have fine enough control that I can keep my own respiratory bypass refilled. I’m happy to keep up the clever repartee all by my lonesome.”

“Lucky…” the Doctor forced himself to gasp out, “…me.”

“Aren’t you just?” Completely unaffected by the current predicament, the Master sat down chipperly atop the crate right next to where the Doctor had slid down to the floor. “This really is all a great deal more enjoyable when I can breathe.” He took a few deep, invigorating breaths, just to taunt the Doctor. “Although oxygen deprivation does tend to bring out the romantic in me as well. Sweet of me, wasn’t it? Last time, how I saved your life.”

The Doctor really wanted to say…

“‘Only to try to kill me again five minutes later, you handsome villain!’” the Master filled in, in an absolutely dreadful attempt to imitate the Doctor’s voice. “Is that the ‘witty’ comeback you were gasping like a fish for?”

The Doctor nodded weakly. Close enough.

“In my defence,” the Master continued, “you weren’t particularly _appreciative_ of my brilliant and noble and – dare I say it? Yes, I think I must – _dashing_ rescue. I must admit, that grated. Does it grate for you too? When your pretty little Earth pets don’t show appropriate gratitude? It must.”

The Doctor tried to glare, but the effect was rather weak, he was afraid. He was rationing the air in his respiratory bypass sharply, and the effect left him feeling a bit woozy. Clearly, the Master was taunting him, teasing him with the possibility that he could easily rescue the Doctor again, were he to be appeased properly.

More importantly, it seemed that the Master wasn’t going to shut up, and if the Doctor didn’t do something quickly, he’d have to listen to the Master monologuing until he finally passed out.

 _Most_ importantly, all that monologuing revealed the best and most plentiful source of oxygen available to him at the moment.

The Doctor killed all three birds with one stone: he sunk the last of his air into the effort of leaping up, clutching either side of the Master’s bald head between his palms, and sealing his lips tightly over the Master’s. He breathed in deep, stealing the air from the Master’s own respiratory bypass and using it to refill his own.

The Master let out a ragged moan against the Doctor’s lips, and his hands came up tentatively to brush at the sides of the Doctor’s waist, almost reserved and gentlemanly for a (very brief) instant. Then, his usual bravado took over, and both his hands went immediately for the Doctor’s arse, pressing the Doctor’s body against his in a deliberately suggestive manner.

The Doctor pulled back and used his pilfered oxygen for the very important purpose of saying, “I’ll have you know that I don’t do it for the gratitude at all,” just because he knew that nothing annoyed the Master more than selfless righteousness. He dove back in to the Master’s mouth to replenish his air supply.

The Master pulled away first this time after rubbing his rather prominent erection right up against the Doctor’s: “A pity, because I find myself in the mood to be exceedingly grateful.” He kissed the Doctor again.

The Doctor took advantage of the fresh rush of air to think upon that. It didn’t take much thought, admittedly. “You do?” he asked hopefully, pulling away for the quick words, before sliding back in.

The Master leaned back this time, so that the Doctor had to follow along after him until the Master lay back atop the shipping crate, legs looped up around the Doctor’s waist, the Doctor firmly on top of him. “Oh,” he murmured against the Doctor’s lips, “I _do_.”

“Well, in that case…” The Doctor dove in for air, fumbled blindly for the Master’s flies, and pulled back to speak: “This would go rather more quickly if you restored the room’s oxygen levels.”

Another kiss for air, this time the Master got the Doctor’s flies open in riposte, and the Master pulled away: “But, Doctor, I do so enjoy being the literal air you breathe.”

Kiss for air, got the Master’s trousers and pants down to his knees (good enough), and back out to speak: “When they talk about erotic asphyxiation, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go, you realise.”

Kiss for air, the Master’s thighs pulled the Doctor in to line them up, then the Master pulled away: “That, my dear, is because the way I do it is so much _better_.”

Kiss for air, this time deeper as the Doctor tasted him, got a good feel of the Master’s pulses-rate and biorhythms, and then the Doctor used that timing to slide inside the Master’s body, interlocking them. He didn’t bother to pull away to say anything in response: he found that he quite agreed with the Master’s conclusions.

It was an interesting challenge, making love when the Doctor could not actually part from the Master’s lips for want of breath. He ended up rocking his hips slowly, gently, in time with the breaths he thieved from the Master’s mouth.

The position was uncomfortable. The Master had folded himself over to allow the Doctor entry, but his trousers were in the way, still caught around his calves, making it exceedingly difficult for the Doctor to stay inside him while still lowering his body enough over the Master’s to keep their lips firmly sealed together.

After the first few moments, it became clear that the position was, in fact, untenable. The Doctor ended up thrusting once, pulling back, then leaning down for air. The Master’s pants tangled in the way, and the Doctor jabbed himself in the side with the Master’s belt buckle. The Master looked far too amused at the yelp this drew from the Doctor.

“Don’t just lie there smirking,” the Doctor complained, trying desperately to untwine the Master’s pants and trousers from at least one leg, “help me.”

“No, I don’t think so,” the Master said lazily, stroking the fingers of one hand enticingly up and down the Doctor’s arm. “I think I’d rather you had to hurry.”

The Doctor looked down at him in confusion, stole another kiss for breath, and asked, “What?”

The Master smirked. “I think it’s best that I cut off the free-air supply for now, Doctor. You have…what did we decide it was? Let’s say twelve minutes of oxygen remaining. That should be more than enough time for you to make me come. Assuming you’re _desperate_ enough to really try.”

The Doctor’s eyes widened in disbelief. The Master couldn’t actually—no, no, the Master absolutely, certainly could and would. He opened his mouth to complain, then realised he’d just be wasting valuable air, and shut it again. He scowled down at the Master, though, just so that the Master knew how very, very displeased he was, and started thrusting in earnest.

The Master smiled in smug satisfaction, lay back, and stretched his arms out to the far sides of the crate, looking languid and contented. Every so often, when the Doctor thrust into him at just the right angle, he’d reward the Doctor with a sensual moan, ecstatic sigh, or deeply hissed, “yesssss!” Wasting his air blatantly and frivolously, just to torment the Doctor.

At first the Doctor had more than enough air to pound into the Master’s body quick and hard. After the first few minutes, however, the Doctor’s vigour began to wane. He was burning through oxygen much more rapidly fucking the Master as hard as he could, as opposed to conserving it. At this rate, he wouldn’t last another five minutes.

He reached down to bring the Master off, but the Master swatted his hand away.

“Ah, ah, ah!” the Master tisked. “Use that pretty prick of yours _properly_. You’re going to make me come _untouched_ , Doctor.”

The Doctor debated, seriously for one moment, wasting precious oxygen to shout at the Master. It would have felt _so good_. On the other hand, he doubted it would help his cause. With a grimace of irritation, his hands returned to the Master’s hips, and he redoubled his efforts at pleasing the Master from the inside out.

The Master continued to moan and writhe wantonly, looking even more satisfied than he had before, the bastard, as the Doctor’s air began to run out. The Doctor first felt it in the stutter of his thrusts: at first the odd push here and there went weak, then regularly every third thrust, then second, then more often the not the Doctor missed his mark. His head started to spin again. The instinct to open up his respiratory system and gasp in desperation became almost impossible to fight. Shadowy spots began to form at the edges of his vision, ever increasing in size, drawing closer and closer to his centre of vision. The blackout looming over him and—

 _There_!

His vision faded, and he slumped forward one last time, drawn down onto and into the Master in a final gravity-induced thrust as he passed out. At the dimmest edges of his awareness, he heard the Master cry out his orgasm, coming at the image of the Doctor’s dying breath (naturally).

Then, in the next instant, air rushed back in, warm and sweet and _alive_. The Doctor whimpered as the Master’s mouth covered his, breathing vitality back into his body. The Doctor’s awareness came to just enough to realise that the Master was sitting up now, clothes out of the way at last, keeping the Doctor buried deep inside him while he kissed the Doctor back to life. The next instant, the Doctor’s body came to as well, and took it upon itself to immediately climax long and hard, ejaculating everything he had into the Master’s body.

He might have blacked out again for a moment there, still lacking all the oxygen necessary to fully celebrate his pleasure.

When awareness returned _this_ time, he found himself panting for breath against the Master’s lips. No longer _within_ the Master’s lips, however: the Master must have finally returned the air to the room.

“That, my dear,” the Master breathed against him in a rare compliment, “was _exquisite_. I think I should like it very much if you breathed only through my lips from now on.”

The Doctor glared at him with centuries worth of annoyance and said, “You _would_ ,” in as scathing a tone as he could manage.

The Master merely chuckled at him, the sheer gall! “Now, now,” he teased, nuzzling up against the Doctor almost contentedly, “don’t even try to pretend that you didn’t enjoy yourself equally well. I can feel the evidence inside me still, after all.”

The Doctor snorted. “Crude.” He pulled away and yanked up his trousers petulantly. “Even for you.” He pointedly looked around them, at anywhere but where the Master still sat with his trousers off, debauched from the Doctor’s pleasured frenzy. “Now that you’re done, I don’t suppose you’d consider taking us someplace nicer?”

“And deprive you of the opportunity to escape?” the Master sighed and fell onto his back once more. “Really, Doctor, you disappoint me. I do you this lovely favour, and still so unappreciative.”

“My deepest apologies. I do, indeed, appreciate every occasion upon which I manage to survive one of your so-called ‘lovely favours’.” The Doctor immediately set about trying to escape through the door; surely, if the Master could locally control the oxygen to the degree that he could insert it directly into his own respiratory bypass, he wouldn’t have locked them in as hopelessly as they’d been the first time.

“Oh, Doctor…” the Master sighed wearily, and it almost sounded genuine for once. “You have no idea how much I do for you.” He didn’t get up.

The lock on the door gave. The Doctor paused, looked back at where the Master was lying – posed quite artistically, in fact – and looked back at the now-open door. “I’ve seen more than enough to get the general picture,” he retorted, and bolted through the door with only the slightest tinge of regret.

“I don’t think you _do-o_!” the Master’s voice sing-songed after him.

As the Doctor ran, he had a flash of…something. A memory or a gap or a blackness, and then—

“Ah, there you are, old girl!” he said happily, patting the door to his TARDIS before ducking inside. For a moment, something seemed odd, like he should be…surprised(?) that his TARDIS had come to him so easily. But then he shook it off, set the coordinates, and went—

Well…

_Where?_


	3. First Sight (Eight/Roberts!Master)

The Doctor turned the corner, spun, and crashed into—

“Hello?”

It came out as a question. The Doctor didn’t know why it was a question. It should be a simple greeting: hello. Unless…

“I say, have we met somewhere before?”

A part of the Doctor couldn’t help but hope that the answer was yes. After all, the man in front of him was strong and muscular and quite handsome, in a slightly deranged sort of way.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember?” the man drawled.

American accent. That wasn’t right. No, wait, that _was_ right. Wasn’t. Was. Wasn’t?

“My apologies,” the Doctor pressed a hand to his forehead, feeling a sudden bout of dizziness overcome him, “I seem to be having issues with my…” He trailed off, as the train of thought eluded him.

“Memory?” the dishy man suggested.

“Right, that. Who were you again?”

Something like soft concern flickered in the man’s eyes, and the Doctor had the thought that that was very unusual. Which, really, was a strange thought. After all, the Doctor was exhibiting obvious signs of distress. Why _wouldn’t_ this nice man with the tasty pectoral muscles be concerned? Wouldn’t most anyone?

“You must know me,” the man insisted. “You can’t be _that_ far gone…”

The Doctor sniffed the man, right at the crook of his neck. “I know that you smell nice,” he said dreamily. Odd. Sniffing random men wasn’t like him. Was that like him? He couldn’t remember, honestly. Even more odd. Was _not remembering_ like him?

“You _know_ me,” the man demanded this time, and the force of the command sent shivers down the Doctor’s spine. “I am the Master, and you will—”

“Poke fun at everything that comes out of your mouth,” the Doctor agreed, the memories suddenly flashing back to him. “Right. Sorry about that. I just…” He paused. “What a minute. Have you grown some hair? Or lost some hair? Or stolen some hair? Or…” A deep, meditative pause. “Where’s the beard gone?”

“All right, that’s it,” the Master said with an eye-roll and grabbed the Doctor quite forcefully – yum! – by the arm. “You can’t keep going on like this. Let’s get you somewhere where I can set you straight.”

The Doctor’s face fell. “Straight doesn’t sound fun at all,” he pouted, and pulled back the other way from the door that the Master was trying to drag him toward.

The Master uncharacteristically (Ha! The Doctor even remembered the Master’s characteristics this time!) looked exasperated by this, and then two of them played a bit of childish tug-of-war with the Doctor’s arm in the corridor for a minute, before the Doctor abruptly stopped, sending them both tumbling with the full force of the Master’s strength through the door and down to the floor inside.

The Doctor landed on top, which was not an unpleasant place to be. In fact, squirming about seemed to induce some very interesting biological responses in the Master. Those responses, the Doctor concluded quickly, were really quite worthy of serious scientific study, as was the exact flavour of the Master’s collarbone.

“Will you stop licking me, and be serious for one second?” the Master demanded.

“I _am_ being serious. This is a serious scientific study,” the Doctor confessed. He licked the Master some more.

The Master groaned and banged his head back against the floor once. “Why do you always have to make everything difficult?” he asked rhetorically.

“I like difficult,” the Doctor concluded. “Difficult is more fun.” He succeeded in sneaking his fingers up under the Master’s shirt and pulled it up to mid-chest, then promptly licked one of the nipples he’d just excavated. “Difficult tastes better, too.”

The Master gasped. “You’re clearly not in your right mind,” he said, actually sounding mildly torn.

“And you’re _not_ going to take advantage of me in my addled state?” the Doctor asked incredulously. “Perhaps we should turn this all around: Are _you_ feeling quite right? Maybe you need a little”—the Doctor dipped his tongue into the Master’s navel—“ _medical_ attention.”

“That was a horrible innuendo, even for you.” The Master swatted at the Doctor’s head, but the Doctor ducked down in time so that the Master’s fingers only tangled in his long hair. Ooh, his hair was _long_ again! He loved it when his hair was long! It let Masters guide his head in all sorts of delightful directions.

The Master, however, did not take advantage of his position to force the Doctor’s head down onto the prominent bulge in his trousers. Instead, he took the opportunity to tentatively probe the Doctor’s mind. The Doctor was starting to seriously worry about the Master’s mental well-being.

“I’m starting to seriously worry about your mental well-being,” the Master said, frowning, as he prodded several of the more gaping holes in the Doctor’s memory. “Do you even _have_ a sense of linear time anymore?”

The Doctor blinked at him and said, “I’ve just come linearly from your neck down your chest, and now I’d very much like to continue – linearly – to your cock, if you don’t mind.”

The Master opened his mouth, reconsidered, and then shut his mouth again. His hands loosened in the Doctor’s hair enough to allow the Doctor to unzip him, pull him out of his pants, and then swallow him down all in one go. At that, the Master’s hands immediately tightened again, trapping the Doctor in place.

And what a very nice place this was to be!

The Doctor pulled back with a swirl of his tongue around the Master’s length that elicited a strangled little whimper.

“Now, that’s just not fair,” the Master complained. The Doctor lathed his tongue around the head of the Master’s cock, lapping at each of veins he could find. “You know I can’t resist you when you’re unable to talk back…”

“A _proper_ arch-nemesis,” the Doctor retorted, “would take advantage of my vulnerable state. None of this namby-pamby hesitation.”

“‘Namby-pamby’?” the Master repeated with one raised eyebrow. “I’d say that’s proof that you’ve lost your mind, except no, that’s exactly the sort of nonsense I’d expect to come out of your mouth.”

The Doctor licked a stripe down the underside of the Master’s cock that made him gasp and his balls tense up tight. Then the Doctor licked back up again and teased his lips around the Master’s swollen head once more, mouthing him softly while looking up at the Master with knowing eyes. “Wanna put some better nonsense in my mouth instead?” he said, both seductive and insulting at once.

The Master looked absolutely defeated, the poor dear. “How can you be so ridiculous, yet at the same time…?”

“Yes?” the Doctor taunted him, and opened wide but still refused to mouth anything but the very tip.

The next second, the Master’s fingers sunk deep into the Doctor’s hair, and he pushed the Doctor down _hard_. The Doctor let out a muffled cry: not exactly of surprise, because the Master’s actions were as predictable as always, but more of unpreparedness. It really was difficult to completely prepare to have one’s mouth so quickly and deeply _filled_ , after all.

The Doctor’s moan caused the Master’s hips to twitch up in response, pushing his cock further down the Doctor’s throat. It was a lucky thing the Doctor had a respiratory bypass, or this might be quite uncomfortable.

In fact, hadn’t there being something…somewhere…recent(?)…with his respiratory bypass and the Master and…?

The fragment of half-forgotten memory flitted away when the Master began thrusting into his mouth. Slow and shallow at first, letting the Doctor lathe over him with saliva, slicking everything up properly. Then, gradually, his thrusts deepened, still slow and controlled, but taking his time to carefully back all the way out of the Doctor’s lips, and then slide all the way back inside until the Doctor’s throat tightened around him and the Doctor kissed the very base of him.

The Doctor let the Master use him several times like that, enjoying the transition from full to empty to full again. But of course the Doctor couldn’t just let the Master have his way. Not for long, at least.

In fact, that right there was absolutely long enough. The Doctor grabbed hold of the Master’s hips, locking him in place and slipping his head sneakily out of the Master’s grip. Thus freed, the Doctor promptly bobbed his mouth up and down on the Master’s cock at a much faster pace, frantic really, so much so that he earned himself a pathetic-sounding whimper.

He swallowed deliberately, just to see if he could improve upon that, and got a low moan. His fist wrapped around the Master’s base, fingers slipping through the saliva that now coated the Master trailing down, down, and…

The Master’s breath hitched, and he bit down hard on his lower hip when the Doctor’s fingertip circled his entrance. Oh, oh, _oh_ , had he nearly got the _Master_ to actually _beg_?

Giddy elation rushed to the Doctor’s head at the very notion, and he decided that that was absolutely his new goal in life. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? It was absolutely brilliant, if he did say so himself, which he couldn’t technically at the moment with the Master’s cock in his mouth, but he would do so at the nearest available opportunity to the first version of himself he ran across.

The Doctor redoubled his efforts, even though his jaw was becoming a bit sore, and his tongue might be getting a bit tired. He had to try for finesse rather than speed, as a result. Well, that and slipping his index finger into the Master’s body and rotating it around so that he struck the ringed nerve-cluster that their Academy instructors had always insisted was a useless vestige of more primitive times that no proper Time Lord would ever pay the slightest bit of attention to. In fact, that anatomy lecture might have been what finally prompted the Doctor and Master to try this that first time… It was hard to remember that far back.

With the second swirl of his finger into the Master and one last deep suck, the Master finally came with a shudder, mouth thrown open in a cry of ecstasy (but still refusing the beg, the stubborn old bastard). His fingers caught in the Doctor's hair again, holding him in place and making him swallow (not that the Doctor had the slightest inclination to do otherwise) as long, slow tremors undulated through his body, gradually subsiding.

The Master, unfortunately, didn’t taste as soothing as a nice cuppa, but then the Doctor couldn’t have everything. There was time for tea later, after all.

The Master went limp and spent in the aftermath, during which time the Doctor licked him perfectly clean, since that just seemed polite. After all, he was thinking much more clearly now, having got his daily dose of Master. To think that he hadn’t even been able to remember the Master’s name when they’d started! Something odd must have been going on with his memory, he was forced to concede.

He couldn’t remember at all what he’d been doing or where he’d been immediately _prior_ to all-but-colliding with this Master in the corridor. He hoped it wasn’t more sex; he would have hated to have forgotten more sex.

Beneath him, the Master stirred and blinked his eyes open at the Doctor, who was now smiling a self-satisfied little smile down at him.

“I remember you now,” the Doctor informed him happily.

“I would _hope_ so,” the Master retorted. “I’d hate to think that you—”

“—Goo-Snake!” the Doctor concluded with delight.

The Master groaned in despair, got his foot on the Doctor’s shoulder, and kicked him off. “No!” he insisted. “No Goo-Snake!”

The Doctor pouted, forlorn. “No Goo-Snake?” he asked piteously.

“In any case, I need to do _something_ to stabilise your mind, before you—”

“Buh-bye, then!” the Doctor said with a wave and dashed off.

“Wait!” the Master called and tried to lunge after him, but his legs got tangled in his trousers, which were still wrapped around his knees, and he tumbled back to the floor.

The Doctor took the opportunity to escape out the door to freedom, and—

The next moment, the memory faded, and the Doctor had absolutely no idea what. Only that he was running, running, running…


	4. First Time (Eight/All Masters)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Borrows from all the audios I've mentioned so far, plus Ravenous 4. Also: the Master can say he was a "deathworm morphant" as many times as he wants, but everyone _knows_ that he was actually a goo-snake. :P

“He must’ve come this way,” said the first voice, warm on the surface but icy sharp just beneath, sly and deceptive. That was the War Master. “We’ve cut off all the other exits.”

“You’re _sure_ he didn’t dive his TARDIS back into your pocket universe?” the second voice drawled out, sounding affable and frustrated all at once. The American accent was a give-away: That was the Thirteenth Master, in that EMT’s stolen body.

“Absolutely _positive_ , darling,” the third voice chimed in with cheerful menace. The bald Master obviously, the Fourteenth. “I _know_ he’s close now. My nether-regions are tingling, you know. A sort of homing boner, if you will. A…bomer?”

A smack sounded down the corridor.

“Ow!” the Fourteenth Master complained. “Is such brutality really warranted?”

“ _Completely_ ,” the Thirteen Master insisted. “That wasn't even a pun. I… I don’t know _what_ it was, and I don’t want to know, and I never want to hear myself say anything like it ever again.”

“Oh, you’re no fun at all,” the Fourteenth Master complained. From within his hiding place, the Doctor could actually _hear_ the pout. “Are you actually going to condone this?”

The question was, presumably, directed to the War Master, who answered, “I would encourage it further if it would get you to shut up.”

The footsteps were close now. The Doctor heard one Master pass, then two. The third passed so close that the Doctor could actually hear him muttering under his breath, “Would it _kill_ the other mes to develop a sense of humour?” presumably low enough that the other two Masters couldn’t hear him.

The Doctor held his breath, using his respiratory bypass to keep absolutely silent. As soon as the Fourteenth Master passed, he could duck out behind them and run back down the corridor the other way. With any luck, he’d be able to double back to his TARDIS and… Well, the Fourteenth Master would be able to detect him if he materialised into his pocket universe, but the Doctor could always try traveling to somewhere else within the Matrix at large. After all, the Matrix was near infinite. It would take the Masters _forever_ to track him down there.

The Fourteenth Master stepped by, the Doctor poised to run, but then the Fourteenth Master paused, turned, and stepped back. “Gentlemen?” he said with an obnoxious lilt.

Ahead of him, the other two Masters stopped as well.

“That ‘bomer’ you were mocking?” the Fourteenth Master continued. “It’s pointing _this way_.”

The Doctor swore internally, willed the door to the cupboard he’d ducked into to reappear, and flung the door open directly in the Fourteenth Master’s face. He succeeded in knocking the Fourteenth Master back into the far wall and _ran_.

The Thirteenth and War Masters were blocked by the open door, and the Doctor got two steps head start before the Fourteenth Master’s foot shot out and tripped him. He stumbled forward, catching himself on one hand, just as the War Master got the cupboard door slammed shut. The Doctor lunged up at the same time that the Thirteenth Master lunged forward, and for one second the Doctor thought he’d escaped the Masters’ clutches.

Then, he felt himself yanked back by the Thirteenth Master’s fist clutched in the back of his jacket. He fell hard, dragging the Thirteenth Master with him, and the breath was forced from his respiratory bypass with a loud “oof!”

Nevertheless, the Doctor kicked wildly, got the Thirteenth Master’s hand off him and scrambled to crawl out from under him. The Fourteenth Master was still down, his legs now trapped under the Thirteenth Master’s. It _almost_ worked.

But then the War Master, calm and unencumbered, sank his knee into the centre of the Doctor’s back, pinning him down, while his hands caught the Doctor’s and forced them down by the Doctor’s sides.

The Doctor wriggled in a futile battle, his cheek pressed to the floor.

“If the two of you are done playing around,” the War Master said with a weary sigh at where the Thirteenth and Fourteen Masters were still tangled up on the floor, “this is a _very_ squirmy Doctor.”

The Doctor felt a second pair of hands hold down his left arm, while the War Master’s weight shifted to the Doctor’s right side. Since the Thirteenth Master was still wheezing behind him, undoubtedly the other Master holding him was the Fourteenth.

“‘Playing around’?” the Fourteenth Master objected. “If I recall correctly, if _you’d_ bothered to stop him when he first entered our minds as we’d _discussed_ , we wouldn’t have had to run around chasing him in the first place.”

The War Master scoffed. “Yes, because you were _so_ successful in your attempts to trap him in that hold in your pocket universe. It’s embarrassing, really, how easily I was turned by a pretty face in my youth.”

“If you two would _stop arguing_ ,” the Thirteenth Master cut in, annoyed, “he’s escaping. Again.”

 _Damn._ The War and Fourteenth Masters immediately retightened their holds on the Doctor, this time capturing the actual muscles of his arms rather than merely the sleeves that the Doctor had almost wriggled out of.

“We need to get him into a room, quick,” the Thirteenth Master concluded.

“Oh yes, try to act like you’re so much _better_ and more focused than us,” the Fourteenth Master said snidely. “Like _you_ didn’t get distracted the last time _you_ caught him.”

The Doctor stilled. The way things usually went with the Masters, they’d get caught up sniping at each other, and the Doctor’d get another chance to escape. All he had to do was bide his time.

However, alas, the War Master injected some unexpected sanity. “Not this time. You two can quarrel later. Right now, we need to get him in…here.”

The Doctor looked up. Door number 20 was just ahead of them.

“Won’t our Twentieth come in?” the Thirteenth Master asked, but got up and opened the door anyway.

“Oh, you know him. Never leaves his Doctor’s mind. He won’t even know.” The Fourteenth Master hoisted the Doctor up.

At the same time, the War Master pulled up on the Doctor’s other arm.

Together, despite the Doctor’s valiant struggles, they dragged him into the room. The Thirteenth Master shut the door behind them.

Indeed, the room looked largely unlived-in: still the sterile hotel-room default that the Matrix first presented to them all.

“On the bed?” the Fourteenth Master suggested.

“Always how I prefer my Doctors,” the Thirteenth Master agreed.

The Doctor continued to struggle, but in a somewhat more playful way this time. After all, there were worse things than being forced into bed by three Masters. The Fourteenth Master had hinted enough in the corridor, and the Doctor took the opportunity to twist his wrist down and feel that, yes indeed, the Fourteenth Master had a very lovely erection, indeed.

The Fourteenth Master groaned in response. “Enough of that,” he insisted, and he and the War Master manhandled the Doctor down onto the bed on his back. “There will be plenty of time for that later.”

So, naturally, the Doctor went for the War Master’s erection instead. That was also quite nice.

The War Master forced himself to remain composed and didn’t let up on the Doctor in the slightest.

Oh dear, it seemed they were actually _serious_ this time. How very disappointing. The Doctor disapproved entirely and suddenly began _actually_ trying to escape, rather than merely writhing sexily against them.

Some very uncouth cursing emitted from the Masters’ mouths as all three of them now tried to hold him in place. The Doctor wasn’t quite sure what they planned to _do_ with him if it wasn’t a lot of group sex, but on general principle he always tried to make it as impossible as he could for the Masters to do _anything_. It seemed a wise strategy.

“Hold him still!” the Thirteenth Master complained, struggling to keep the Doctor’s legs down. “He _kicks_!”

“This isn’t,” the War Master grunted, “going to work, if he’s like this.” The Doctor got an elbow into his ribs.

“Quick,” the Fourteenth Master agreed, “pacify him!” He ducked under a flailing hand.

“How?” the Thirteenth Master asked, twisting away from a well-aimed knee that just missed his groin.

“You know _very well_ how,” the War Master glared at him, and leaned his full weight into the Doctor’s shoulder, trying to stop him from bucking them off.

“You can’t be serious!” the Thirteenth Master said in horror.

“Do we – oof!”—the Doctor finally succeeded in kneeing the Fourteenth Master this time—“ _look_ like we’re joking?” Unfortunately, he recovered almost immediately, because that was how the Matrix handled these things.

The Thirteenth Master scowled at the other Masters, then at the Doctor for good measure, and then in the next moment he was gone and in his place he had transformed into…

“Goo-Snake!” the Doctor exclaimed in sudden delight, ceasing his struggles immediately.

Now, while “Goo-Snake!” was the only thing the Doctor _said_ , technically he was a telepathic dimensionally-transcendental being who existed on multiple planes of existence and, as the Masters were _also_ telepathic dimensionally-transcendental beings who existed on multiple planes of existence, they didn’t only experience what the Doctor said in four-dimensional space-time, but instead felt it through the very fabric of the universe itself.

There really was no human equivalent to the Doctor’s delighted utterance, but the closest approximation would be something like:

##  :D  
♥♥♥♥♥  
-’-,-<@ @>-,-’-  
. . . __/\\_/\\_/\\_/\\_/o`  
*~*~* GOO-SNAKE! *~*~*  
`o\\_/\\_/\\_/\\_/\\__ . . .  
-’-,-<@ @>-,-’-  
♥♥♥♥♥  
:D

“Ow,” the Fourteenth Master winced, “my brain.”

“Never, never,” the War Master said, sounding equally pained, “do that again.”

The Goo-Snake Master, coiled upon the now-thoroughly-pacified Doctor’s stomach, twitched its goo-tail with displeasure.

“Sorry, sorry,” the Doctor said. “It’s just: Goo-Snake!” He said it in an indoors four-dimensional voice this time. “Hello, Goo-Snake!” he cooed.

The Goo-Snake Master slithered up his chest, and the Doctor lay back obediently, quivering in anticipation, vanishing his clothes hopefully as he went. The Fourteenth and War Masters still held him down, but how could he possibly worry about that when finally, at long last, he had a Goo-Snake of his very own? In fact, on a lark, the Doctor vanished both of _their_ clothes, too; if they were going to do this, might as well do it _right_.

 _You,_ Goo-Snake Master thought at the Doctor, because he couldn't exactly speak as a goo-snake, _are almost pathologically strange._

The Doctor leaned down, because the Goo-Snake Master was now quite close, and pressed an adoring kiss to the top of its head.

 _Exhibit A…_ Goo-Snake Master thought wearily.

“Yes, well, this is what happens when Time Lords imprint their regenerations upon morphants,” the War Master said apologetically. “Just be grateful the Fourth Doctor didn’t regenerate into the Fifth while you were still in your decayed form. Then you’d have _two_ of them with questionable proclivities.”

The Goo-Snake shuddered delicately. _Let’s just get on with it. I’m sure you both remember what being in this form was like. So much danger of being stepped on…_

The Doctor let out an aghast cry at that. “I would _never_ let anyone step on you,” he swore, pulled one arm free of where the Fourteenth Master had mistakenly let his grip go lax, and wrapped it around the Goo-Snake to cuddle it close to his chest.

The Fourteenth Master’s hand instead went to the Doctor’s shoulder, pushing him down fully onto his back. “Will you cooperate _now_?” he asked hopefully but with an abundance of caution.

“Only if I can take Goo-Snake with me,” the Doctor instead, clasping it to his bosom like a stuffed animal.

 _This is so undignified,_ the Goo-Snake complained. _I think you’re doing this deliberately, to humiliate me as much as possible,_ it accused the Doctor.

“Would I do something as juvenile as that?” the Doctor asked with wide-eyed innocence.

“Yes.”

“Yes!”

_Yes!_

The Doctor sulked because they all had him there. “Fine, fine, I’ll cooperate,” he agreed grudgingly. “What am I cooperating with again?”

“Just lie back,” the Fourteenth Master instructed, “and think of Goo-Snake. If you’ll do the honours?”

The last was directed at the Goo-Snake Master, who wriggled free of the Doctor’s embrace, and with a long slither and dive, went straight into the Doctor’s mouth.

The Doctor’s eyes widened, and he forced his throat to relax as the Goo-Snake slid deeper into him, inch by inch, until he was reasonably sure it had no further place to go. After all, it was longer than a Time Lord’s trachea. However, just when the pressure became unbearable, it suddenly dissolved, pressing outward but no longer in a concrete physical sense. The Master was surrendering his body entirely inside the Doctor, turning incorporeal instead.

The Doctor let out a gasp when the end of the Goo-Snake’s tail flicked once against the Doctor’s lips, and then the entire Goo-Snake Master was gone inside of him.

“Did it work?” the War Master asked, frowning down at the Doctor with every extra-dimensional sense he had.

“How do you feel?” the Fourteenth Master demanded, taking the pulse of each of the Doctor’s hearts with almost touching concern.

“A bit odd,” the Doctor admitted, and then joked weakly. “I think it may have been something I ate.”

The energy of the Goo-Snake Master pulsed once inside him, strangely warm and familiar, and then it began to seep slowly outward, permeating his being from the inside out. He felt the Master’s mind as a whisper of undercurrent beneath each of his thoughts, felt the ripple of Master’s movement beneath his skin as if the two of them were two layers of fabric rubbing coarsely over each other. The feeling was highly unusual, deeply intimate, and the Doctor was still holding out his opinion on whether he liked it or not.

He had a feeling he’d just popped his ‘bodily integrity’ cherry with the Master, at long last.

 _Just give me a minute to get situated properly,_ the Goo-Snake Master thought from _within_ him. Oh, that was very weird. It was like he himself had had the thought, but also like the thought had been forced through his brain.

The Doctor was leaning toward the ‘not liking it’ camp, but then the Goo-Snake Master coiled around the pleasure centres of his brain, gave them a quick squeeze and release, and the Doctor came on the spot, nearly blacking out from the pleasure. When he woke again, he was firmly in the ‘liking it very much, please more _now_ ’ camp.

The Goo-Snake Master had now settled comfortably within the Doctor’s mind, which meant it wasn’t moving around as much, which in turn minimised the more unsettling aspects of the Doctor’s experience. It twitched against the Doctor’s pleasure centres again, as if in apology, and the Doctor practically swooned.

“Oh… Oh, yes… That’s…nice.” The Doctor realised his ecstatic writhing probably looked very odd to the other two Masters, who still hovered above him looking concerned, because they clearly didn’t understand the incalculable joy of _goo-snake_.

 _Ready,_ the Goo-Snake Master thought, and then: _Contact._

 _Contact,_ the Doctor felt the Fourteenth Master’s response via his connection to the Goo-Snake Master, and then a third _Contact_ , this time from the War Master. All three of them were linked together now, driving the Doctor’s mind. For someone who went by the name ‘the Master’, this had to be the ultimate wet-dream.

“Oh, hush, you,” the Fourteenth Master said.

“He’s not wrong, though,” the War Master conceded sheepishly.

 _Gentlemen,_ the Goo-Snake Master thought, _shall we begin?_

They infused the Doctor with their will then, and for the first time, he began to grasp exactly what it was they were trying to achieve. He saw his time-stream so far in the Matrix clearly now, for the first time, from _their_ perspective: how he’d come in fragmented, his mind shattered due to his repeated memory loss, the constant rewritings of his timeline, and the damage from the eruptions at the start of the Time War. They’d all taken damage to their time senses in the War, of course, but this incarnation of the Doctor had taken it the worst, having regenerated during the early volleys as he had.

He saw, through their eyes, the way he’d been when he’d first arrived in the Matrix: flighty, unfocused, forgetful. How at first they hadn’t really noticed anything wrong because he was, well, the _Doctor_ , and that sort of thing was just par for the course.

He sent a spiral of annoyance back at them for the thought, because he honestly wasn’t _that_ bad.

Their response thoughts all consisted of vague amusement at his lack of self-awareness.

Before he could retort _again_ , their experiences leaked back into him. How, as time in the Matrix passed, the flaw in his incarnation became ever starker. Him forgetting one encounter to the next, flitting back and forth between timelines, never knowing where he was coming from or where he was going to. Their rising concern that he was literally falling apart, scattering into bytes of data that would one day disintegrate into nothing, fragments strewn across the Matrix-scape.

Then, a concerted plan by those Masters closest to him, albeit it horrendously executed as any plan that involved multiple Masters working together was doomed to be…

 _I never!_ , _Hey!_ , _I see, so that’s the kind of thanks we get!_ , were the three annoyed responses to the Doctor’s opinion on _that_ matter.

They’d been chasing him for…oh, for some time now. It was hard to judge. Time didn’t work right in the Matrix, after all, a factor that just seemed to be exacerbating the Doctor’s condition, whereas during his life the solidity of the Vortex had at least kept his mind somewhat intact.

The realisation was shocking: he hadn’t known his mind had been that far gone, hadn’t known _anything_ really beyond the moment he’d been experiencing, his timeline too torn up for him ever to have put the full picture together.

Now, though, he had the scaffolding to perceive it all. The Goo-Snake Master, acting as the backbone for his timeline, allowed his thoughts to be tethered together in proper order. He could _see_ the problem for the first time, and the Masters’ proposed solution to it.

Now that the Doctor had an intact framework for the afterlife, the Masters turned their attentions to his life:

The Thirteenth Master began, piecing together the patches of the Doctor’s memory from right after his regeneration, tying the frayed ends of snatches and thoughts into a single timeline, adding in his own recollections of how events unfolded until, yes, the Doctor had a _beginning_ again.

 _Your turn,_ the Thirteenth Master thought when he’d reached the end of his years, retreating to the back of the Doctor’s mind, but still inside him in every way. The Doctor doubted there a single cell in his body that the Goo-Snake Master hadn’t caressed from within; the Master, even as a goo-snake, always took the time to be _very_ thorough.

The Fourteenth Master loomed over the Doctor then, and the Doctor belatedly realised that he was seeing the Matrix construct with his eyes for the first time in a while. All the work had been deeply mental so far, but he was in danger of physically breaking down as well. If the Doctor looked closely, with the right multi-dimensional senses, he could even _see_ the bytes of data sloughing off his skin, like metaphorical dandruff.

“Look into my eyes,” the Fourteenth Master ordered, positioned above the Doctor now, between his thighs.

The Doctor, for once, looked. There was the Master’s hypnotising influence there, yes, of course. But the Doctor kept looking, deeper, _through_ the Master and the mind-games he liked to play, down to the very core of a man who… _well_ …

The Doctor had always known what lay at the foundation of the Master’s obsession with him, but it was shocking to see it laid so clearly bare like that. Terrifying, but also humbling.

The Fourteenth Master didn’t flinch from the Doctor’s insight into him, serious for once, as he plunged into the Doctor’s mind and body both at once.

The Doctor cried out at the sensation of the Master breaching him: such a tight, perfect fit, the two of them were. They grated close enough to pain just to be enjoyable, but slid together so easily in the end. The Doctor could thrust and counter-thrust with this Master for all eternity and never grow bored.

With the rising rhythm of the Master’s hips, the Doctor felt his internal solidity grow. He moaned at the feel of the Master’s cock, completing him in an improbably literal sense, while at the same time the Fourteenth Master picked up where the Thirteenth had left off, weaving anew the tapestry of the Doctor’s life.

The Fourteenth Master got the middle of him, fittingly enough. His travels through the stars, joy and loss and reconciliation, in an endless cycle, over and over again. This Master’s own timeline darted in and out of his own, a gossamer thread that seemed impossible to catch, yet everywhere at once. The Doctor remembered that which he had forgotten, some holes stitched over and mended where neither of them could fill in the gaps, but reinforced to be stronger than ever now, no longer gaping wide for the Doctor to be sucked into oblivion.

The Doctor’s awareness rose, swelled, and then…

The Fourteenth Master backed off, slowed the movements of his hips and the frenzy of his mind piercing into the Doctor, as the end of his own tenure approached. “ _Pour vous_ ,” the Fourteenth Master sing-songed, and sat back, still inside the Doctor but upright now, no longer flush with the Doctor’s body.

The Doctor lost sight of him quickly as the War Master straddled his chest, his eager erection in front of the Doctor’s face. The Doctor knew the Masters well enough that he figured out how this was going to go.

The War Master stroked his fingers through the Doctor’s hair once, then caught his index finger on the Doctor’s lower lip, teasing it gently down. The Doctor let his mouth fall open in response.

“That’s it,” the War Master soothed, hitching his hips up so that the tip of his cock just kissed the Doctor’s lips, “surrender yourself to me…”

The Doctor wasn’t entirely certain he agreed with the ‘surrender’ part, but he lapped his tongue up under the Master’s head anyway, guiding the War Master’s cock into his mouth. He let out a deep slurp around the widest part of the head: the War Master thick all over, it turned out. With his throat entirely relaxed, he just managed to take the War Master in, hollowing out his cheeks as the War Master bottomed out inside him.

In response to the sight, which must have been quite lovely from behind, the Fourteenth Master slid back out of the Doctor’s arse-hole, and then thrust back in with an audible slap of his balls against the Doctor’s cheeks.

The War Master moved in counterpoint, rocking out as the Fourteenth Master thrust in, and gliding back in as Fourteen slid out. At a double-time pace, the Goo-Snake Master, within the Doctor’s brain, constricted and released all the Doctor’s pleasure circuitry in a frenetic rhythm.

The Doctor rather lost track after that point.

He had three Masters inside both his mind and his body simultaneously. Being Masters, none of them were exactly gentle, and they took their own pleasure from him in every way that they could. Nor were they, however, exceedingly violent: there was a harsh desperation to their collective need for him, but definitely not one built from desire to do him harm.

Through it all, the Doctor felt the end of his memories slot back into place. The end of his lifetime came into focus, voids in his memory filled that he hadn’t even known were missing. He had one brief moment to think that: Ha! He’d _known_ that he met the War Master somewhere before! But the sensations of the three of them on him and in him and moving so _sinuously_ were far too overwhelming, and even though the Doctor was now an intact, discrete entity fully for the first time since he’d died and been born into the Matrix, he couldn’t really call up his memories at the moment. Ironic, really.

The only thing he _did_ remember was that at some point his hands came up to clutch at the War Master’s hips and guide his thrusts into the Doctor’s willing mouth. Behind him, the Fourteenth Master twisted his hips just _so_ , setting electric waves through the nerves clusters in the Doctor’s clenching arse. At his core, the Goo-Snake Master continued to pulse: _pleasure-release-pleasure-release-pleasure-release…_

And then, yes, _pleasure_. Blinding white pleasure, cascading outward, transcendental sparks strewn out from his newly-repaired consciousness directly into the minds of his three Masters, loud and joyous and overpowering…

In quick succession: _release_. The muscles in his arse clamping and pulsing, this throat constricting, his mind flaring out with waves of ecstasy. He felt all three Masters caught up in the ebb and flow of his orgasm, their peaks trapped in a telepathic feedback loop where his pleasure heightened theirs, and theirs re-pleasured his in turn, until they were spiralling inexorably upward, upward, in a chain reaction, spinning uncontrollably toward blackness, blackness…

Gone.

***

The Doctor awoke to find himself still penetrated threefold, and sticky through and through.

The War Master had collapsed against the headboard of the bed, but the Doctor somehow managed to find strength in his arms to move the War Master to the side, so that he fell haphazardly onto the pillows. His spent cock slipped from the Doctor’s lips, and the Doctor took a moment to breathe in deep.

Unfortunately, the Fourteenth Master had apparently been slumped unconscious across the War Master’s back. With the War Master out of the way, he now fell atop the Doctor, clinging to him rather like a limpet.

The Doctor sighed and, with great effort, managed to wiggle himself out from under the Fourteenth Master as well, taking care to ease the Fourteenth Master out of his body gingerly as he did so. Finally, the Doctor manoeuvred their bodies just right, and the Fourteenth Master slid free, a wet trail down the Doctor’s inner thigh marking his passage.

That left only…

The Goo-Snake Master stirred sleepily at the back of the Doctor’s mind at the Doctor’s first gentle prod.

“Come on…” the Doctor enticed it, agitating his consciousness just enough for it to be vaguely uncomfortable. “Time to come back out… Who’s a good Goo-Snake?”

He focused upon the least pleasant memory the two of them shared: the Master falling into the Eye of Harmony, the Doctor holding out his hand, and then the Master’s flat cold _refusal_.

That was enough. The Goo-Snake woke within him, shivered, and spilled back out of his mouth, slithering quickly down the bed, over the edge, and out of sight.

The Doctor gasped when it had gone, feeling the breath in his bypass, the beats of his hearts, the swirl of his thoughts, as if for the first time. On the one hand, he felt relieved to be alone in his own mind again, but on the other hand, he felt strangely _empty_.

He watched as the Thirteenth Master took form again in the armchair across from the foot of the bed. Not the stolen EMT body this time, but all the way back to his original body: white-striped beard, Nehru suit up to his chin, black leather gloves covering every last inch of his skin. Perfectly put together, reserved, and untouchable. Clearly overcompensating for the indignity and vulnerability he’d shown in his most fragile form.

The Doctor’s hearts couldn’t help but swell for him. “Hello there,” he said, voice gone a bit hoarse. Given all the various Masters he’d had down his throat lately, that was hardly a surprise. “I don’t suppose you’re ever going to let me live this one down, are you?” He gestured to where he lay exposed between two naked Masters’ bodies, a third literally having just crawled out from his insides. A bit of a peace offering, really. The Thirteenth Master wasn’t the only one who’d just had a thoroughly undignified and vulnerable experience, after all.

The Thirteenth Master’s mouth tightened, but he nodded at the Doctor curtly, accepting the offer for what it was. “I trust the operation was a success?” he asked, sticking to business and trying so very hard to seem cool and in control.

“Completely,” the Doctor agreed. “As impressive a bit of telepathic surgery as I’ve ever seen.”

The Thirteenth Master’s cheeks flushed slightly, never unable to warm to a compliment to his brilliance. “You’re surprised?” he countered archly, raising one eyebrow as if testing the air for a hint of mockery.

“Grateful,” the Doctor insisted. “ _Thank you_.”

The Thirteenth Master’s cheeks darkened further, and he looked away deliberately. “If you have no further need of me, then?” He waited politely before fleeing, though. Always so debonair, this Master.

“I _always_ have need of you,” the Doctor corrected. “You were _incredible_. I hope that…well… I understand that it’s not your favourite form by any means but… I never truly expected even this once from you, to be honest.”

The Thirteenth Master considered him with hooded eyes, calculating.

“I don’t suppose you would ever tell me why?” the Doctor pressed.

The Thirteenth Master toyed with the edge of his glove, not meeting the Doctor’s searching gaze. “You may not have realised it at the time,” he began slowly, “but you were the last Doctor this particular incarnation of mine met.”

“Ah,” the Doctor said. “I’d wondered. The Ravenous?”

“Indeed.” The Master nodded. “I did appreciate you going through the motions of pretending to try to save me. It was…not the worst way to go out.”

“I wasn’t _pretending_!” the Doctor insisted, exasperated.

The Master didn’t seem to hear him. (Did he ever?) “Also, I know that it was only a distraction, a ruse.” His voice sounded uncertain, as if he were trying to convince himself. “But you said… Well. That I was worth waiting for.”

“And also that you were a dessert course. Both of which are absolutely true. You were entirely worth waiting for, and absolutely delicious.”

The Master cleared his throat and didn’t say a word. If the Doctor didn’t know better, he’d have thought the old fellow was getting choked up. “And, in the end”—when the Master finally did speak, his voice was clear of any pesky emotion that might once have been present—“coupling with you in that form was not quite as unpleasant as I might have imagined.”

“Is that your way of saying that it was good for you, too?” the Doctor couldn’t help but tease.

The Master glared at him. “Don’t push your luck,” he warned.

The Doctor pushed it anyway, as he always had done. “Because, if you ever _did_ want to again…from time to time… Maybe on the odd _special_ occasion?” he asked hopefully.

“Maybe,” the Thirteenth Master conceded with the slightest inclination of his head, “on the _odd_ special occasion. Doctor.” He gave the Doctor a quick peck on the lips, a polite little bow, and stepped out.

The Doctor felt giddy at the very thought. Fortunately, he had a new lease on afterlife, and two naked Masters to work his giddiness out on.

The Fourteenth Master was out cold; not even licking him in unusual places aroused a reaction. However, at the Doctor’s rather amorous nuzzles, the War Master awoke slowly, chuckling to himself as he tangled his hands in the Doctor’s hair and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Well, hello,” the War Master said in that affable rumble that always seemed to not quite hide the deadly intent beneath.

The Doctor shifted on top of him, straddling his midsection, and kissed him again, long and deep this time, getting to know the flavour of this version of the Master’s mouth, as well. “Hello,” the Doctor agreed when their lips slid back apart long enough for the two of them to breathe hotly against each other’s mouths. “You know, I _knew_ that I knew you.”

The War Master snorted and grabbed hold of the Doctor’s hips to nudge him to the side. He wasn’t hard again yet, alas. “As incoherent as always, I see,” he taunted. And then, with a yawn and stretch, got up out of bed and began pacing lightly, working the kinks out of his spine.

The Doctor lay back and admired the movement of muscle under flesh as he did so. “You made me forget,” he accused softly. “Our minds _merged_ , became one, made love and joined with the universe and maybe even helped shape it, and… How could I have _forgotten_?”

The War Master paused with a groan as he twisted his lower back. He then patted the Doctor on the cheek in a way that was both affectionate and just a bit patronising; this Master never had been able to be kind without mixing in just a dash of cruelty. The Doctor caught his palm against his cheek and kissed it once, looking up into the Master’s eyes, unintimidated.

The War Master’s expression softened, and he pulled back. With a thought, his clothes had suddenly returned, put-together once more. “The damage had already been done,” he confessed lightly, “and, as I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, my dearest Doctor, I’m just as much a coward as you are.”

The Doctor’s pulses raced at the admission, genuine and heartsfelt, as close to apologetic as he was ever likely to get. “You won’t come back to bed?” he asked coyly, splaying his thighs open in invitation.

“Next time,” the War Master laughed warmly, and leaned down to steal one last kiss. “Such a talented mouth,” he purred against the Doctor’s lips before pulling away. “I do so enjoy silencing it. However, alas,” he shrugged, “this body isn’t as young as it used to be. And I have other Doctors to attend to.”

It was a weak, cowardly excuse, but at least the War Master had admitted as much. The Doctor let it slide. “I’ll be seeing you,” he challenged.

“You most certainly will,” the War Master agreed, adjusted his waistcoat just a bit stuffily, and left the room.

That left the Doctor alone with…

“I actually quite liked it when you licked the inside of my elbow,” the Fourteenth Master said. “I was never sensitive there in my other regenerations. Who knew?”

The Doctor snorted and turned to look at him. “Oh, I might’ve known you were faking sleep. Oldest trick in our Academy textbooks.”

“And at least _one_ of us always scored top marks on our biological-control practicals…”

“Never able to resist the opportunity to gloat, are you?” the Doctor sighed, and lay back down. Somewhat surprisingly, the Master curled up against him, nudging his head into the crook of the Doctor’s neck, an unusually passive position for any Master. The Doctor added, somewhat more lightly, “Did you enjoy your eavesdropping?”

“Mmm, very much,” the Master agreed, his fingers toying lightly with the Doctor’s fine chest hairs. “You really are a besotted old fool, you know.”

“You’re one to talk," the Doctor retorted. “I take it,” he concluded slowly, “that you are the one who orchestrated all this?” He gestured to his forehead and the general region of his temporal cortex, which had never felt better.

The Master slithered up his body in a most delightful way, and kissed him once, swift but deep. “I couldn’t have my favourite Doctor literally falling to pieces, now could I?” he teased.

The Doctor snorted. “Oh, why do I ever bother to ask you a serious question?” he said wearily. “I don’t think you have a serious bone in your body.”

“And whose fault, exactly, do you think _that_ is?” the Master demanded.

The Doctor frowned. “What do you mean?”

“My Thirteenth may have shaped you at the beginning of your current incarnation, and the War Master shaped your end. But did you ever stop to think, in the middle, that you might have shaped someone in return?” The Fourteenth Master had a way about him so that nothing he said ever sounded entirely serious. But, from the look in his eyes just then, the Doctor was forced to conclude that his words might have been very serious, indeed.

It made sense, too, with what the Doctor now knew. The Thirteenth Master had finally died after the Doctor had promised to do everything he could to come back and save him, and had (perhaps?) finally acknowledged that the Doctor’s reciprocal feelings were genuine. And then, impossibly, he’d regenerated. Or even _imprinted_? After all, the Doctor was forced to acknowledge that he was far from the most serious of Doctors, himself.

“I hope you’re not saying,” he said lightly, “that it’s _my_ fault that you’re like… _this_.”

“Oh Doctor,” the Master teased back, “don’t you know by now? _Everything_ I am has always been entirely your fault.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” the Doctor grumbled. “I’m not taking responsibility for _that_ train-wreck. No, _planet_ -wreck is more accurate.”

“Universe-wreck?” the Master suggested delightedly.

The Doctor snorted.

The corners of the Master’s lips twitched, and his thumb idly brushed the Doctor’s nipple.

The Doctor felt one perfect moment of understanding stretch between them. Tentatively, he stilled the Master’s hand on his chest before bringing it up so that he could press a soft kiss to the Master’s inner elbow.

A shudder trembled through the Master’s body. “Oh no, that’s cheating,” he complained. “I think I liked you better when you didn’t have any memories. I didn’t have to watch that what I said around you, lest it be used against me.”

“Wait, you mean all those times, you _weren’t_ deliberately sabotaging your own plans by revealing where the self-destructs were?” the Doctor asked, eyes wide in faux surprise.

“Oh, _you_! I never did that once, as you know perfectly well.”

“ _Really_?”

The Master paused, as if wracking his memory. “Well, it can’t have been more than once…”

“Go on.”

“More than…five times?” he guessed.

The Doctor laughed. “Probably not more than five times,” he agreed. “Now, if you’re quite recovered, I feel in the mood for a change of scenery for our next encounter. Perhaps a romantic stroll to get to know each other better along the calcite shores of one of the artificial pleasure planets in the Querin system?”

The Master thought for a moment, and then his face lit up with radiant joy. “You mean you want my cock after a walk-and-talk along the chalk-rock dock of mock Quock?” he said.

“Exactly!” the Doctor beamed. “Catch me if you can!” With that challenge, he bounded out of bed, suddenly clothed in full once more. He made a wild, joyful run for his TARDIS. Apparently, running about madly wasn’t just part of the amnesia, then: good to know, because he did so enjoy the running.

“Oh, my dear Doctor,” the Fourteenth Master paraphrased, scrambling out of bed to chase after him, “I think this is the beginning of a _beautiful_ relationship.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, the Eighth Doctor's situation took even more effort to sort out than Ainley!Master's! I just couldn't leave Eight not remembering the War Master, though, because they are wonderful together. Actually, Eight's wonderful with _all_ his Masters. :)
> 
> I've also added a couple bonus epilogues of nonsense, just because.


	5. Epilogue 1: Papa Bear Returns Home

The Twentieth Master stormed into the atrium, down the hall, and into his room. An anxious lull settled in the common area, and then – as anticipated – the door flew back open, banging against the wall.

“Who’s been sleeping with their Doctor in my bed?” the Twentieth Master asked furiously.

One by one, every single last Master raised their hand. A few of them gave him a jaunty salute or a cheeky grin as well. One heckler far at the back shouted out, “And we’ve been eating your porridge, too!”

The Twentieth Master glowered at them and spat out the absolute worst thing he could think of: “Oh… I hope all your Doctors run off with human girls!”

The notion earned him exactly the horrified looks he’d been hoping for. “He didn’t _mean_ that, right?” “No, of course not, he was just letting off steam.” “None of us would ever _truly_ mean that…”

Satisfied with the overheard mutters from his various incarnations, the Twentieth Master stormed right back over to the Doctor’s mind instead. After all, grabbing his Doctor and finding a forbidden bed to have sex in, was far from the worst idea the rest of him had come up with.


	6. Epilogue 2: Goo-Snake!

##  :D  
♥♥♥♥♥  
-’-,-<@ @>-,-’-  
. . . __/\\_/\\_/\\_/\\_/o`  
*~*~* GOO-SNAKE! *~*~*  
`o\\_/\\_/\\_/\\_/\\__ . . .  
-’-,-<@ @>-,-’-  
♥♥♥♥♥  
:D

The End  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits: Goo-Snake ASCII art adapted/modified from designs on [this site](https://ascii.co.uk/art/snake).


End file.
